


Some Days

by Setkia



Series: it's okay to not be okay [9]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, First Fight, Implied Suicide Attempt, M/M, Peter is a Good Boyfriend, Wade's Voices, mental health
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 06:02:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14586555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Setkia/pseuds/Setkia
Summary: “But … but you left.”“And I came back,” Peter says, trying to sound casual but he’s sure the worry and concern and panic at the fact that Wade still hasn’t dropped the gun must seep into his voice.“They said you wouldn’t.”





	Some Days

**Author's Note:**

  * For [King_infestus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/King_infestus/gifts).



_Some days, they taste like lemonade_  
_Some days can feel like razorblades_  
_I wish I could float away, some days_

—The Maine, _Some Days_

The problem Peter has when it comes to fighting with Wade is that he doesn’t have the patience for it. It sounds terrible to say, but it’s true. He just doesn’t have the patience to deal with Wade when they fight like this.

It’s another one of those fights that sounds stupid, but it’s really the build-up of a thousand small bantering sessions.

The thing is, it doesn’t matter that Wade doesn’t always wipe the blood off his shoes when he visits, and maybe Peter can’t stand that Wade leaves all the cupboard doors open when he’s making tacos, or how he never cleans after himself, but Peter does tons of shit that annoys Wade too. Peter leaves his stuff all over Wade’s apartment that it’s like a scavenger hunt to find where he left his watch among the pile of weapons in the drawers, he steals clothes without asking, and he likes to lick his knife clean of butter (Wade hates it when he does that, because Peter doesn’t have the same healing factor as he does).

They’re not perfect. They’ve never been. They never will be, but it’s what makes them _them_.

Peter isn’t an idiot, honeymoon phases don’t last forever. He’s kind of amazed they’ve gotten this far into the relationship without one of them dying (alright, without _Peter_ dying), never mind the danger they constantly put themselves in, sometimes when they get mad, they take it out on each other and they both kind of have super strength.

He just needs some time to clear his head, so he leaves.

Maybe he slams the door a bit too forcefully, and maybe he wasn’t using the right tone of voice when he declared he was going out for a walk, and maybe he shouldn’t have ignored Wade’s crestfallen expression when he left, but he just needs time to get his shit together.

He knows Wade has his own insecurities and so does Peter, he doesn’t want to trigger something by saying words he doesn’t mean. He’s not in the right mind to talk to Wade right now without saying something indelicate. He never wants to prove Wade’s doubts about their relationship right just because Peter couldn’t hold his tongue.

Peter doesn’t just go out for a walk. He swings from some of his favourite rooftops, helps someone out of a mugging, and goes around ringing doorbells to identify the owner of a lost dog. He’s gone for several hours, and even though he’s exhausted, he doesn’t want to end the night on a bad note, so he goes back to Wade’s apartment.

He unsticks the key from the bottom of the loose floorboard that’s three inches to the left of the placemat, and over ten inches away from the potted plant (because fuck the potted plant, Wade had said when he asked), and unlocks the door.

They just need to set up some ground rules that Peter realizes they should’ve figured out before they were already three months into a relationship, but whatever. It’s never too late to talk.

“Wade?” Peter calls, pulling off his mask. He takes off his boots, his soles of his feet aching. The landing, though he’s used to it, is always hard on his soles. “I’m back.”

No answer.

He’s thinking about how weird that is when his spidey-senses latch onto a faint sound. It sounds … it’s a clicking sound? What is Wade doing now?

“Wade?”

 _Click_.

There’s a sob.

Peter races to the source of the noise to find Wade Wilson sitting on Peter’s side of the bed (when he decides to sleep over), crying, with a gun in his hand.

The young adult wants to say something, anything, to get Wade to lower the gun, but he doesn’t know what to say. Wade goes to pull the trigger—

“STOP!”

_BANG!_

Wade jerks in surprise and shoots the ceiling fan. It was already in a dismal state. The mutant stares at the hole in his ceiling. “Fuck, the landlord ain’t gonna like that …” He shakes his head.

“The fuck are you doing?”

Wade looks at him, as if noticing he’s here for the first time. Peter supposes, if he had eyebrows, they’d be knitting together right about now in confusion. “But … but you left.”

“And I came back,” Peter says, trying to sound casual but he’s sure the worry and concern and panic at the fact that _Wade still hasn’t dropped the gun_ must seep into his voice.

“They said you wouldn’t.”

“Who’s they?”

“The fuckers up here,” says Wade, pressing the barrel of the gun to his temple. “You weren’t answering my calls.”

Peter frowns. He doesn’t want to tell him that he’s wrong, because he knows Wade’s vulnerable right now, but his phone never went off during any of the escapades he went on. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his phone. There’s no new notifications. But Wade sounds so sure of himself.

“Wait right here, okay? I’m going to be right back,” Peter promises, holding up his hands in a stay gesture like Wade’s some kind of dog. He really hates treating Wade like this, like he’s stupid or something. He doesn’t want to do it, and he doesn’t mean to do it, sometimes it just comes out sounding that way, and he can’t really do anything about it. “Right back, you hear me? Count to 30 and I’ll be here before you know it.”

Once he’s sure that Wade isn’t going to pull the trigger again, Peter runs to the kitchen. He throws his burner/business phone onto the counter and grabs his personal phone from the charger (which is held together by electrical tape). There are at least 22 text messages, and 5 missed calls.

 _Shit_.

Peter races back to Wade, his feet sliding across the floor to make sure he’s back within the time frame he promised. He chuckles sheepishly. “Sorry, I didn’t have the right phone on me at the time. It was on vibrate,” he gestures to his personal cell. “I would’ve picked up, if I had known, I was just busy.”

Wade nods, but he’s still holding onto the gun.

“Are … are we going to talk about the whole pulling a gun on yourself thing?”

“Only had one bullet,” the mutant muses. “Wasted on the ceiling,” he nods up at the lightly falling debris. “Was playing a game.”

“Do you do this whenever I’m not around? I shouldn’t have to worry about my boyfriend deciding to play Russian Roulette every time I go to clear my head!”

“It’s not like it can actually hurt me, Petey.”

“That’s not an excuse!” He runs his fingers through his hair and begins pace. He has so much excess energy, and all the rationale he obtained from swinging to different vantage points across the city has left him. He’s not _mad_ , when he’s mad at Wade he wants to throw him through a window. He’s frustrated. He just wants to _understand_.

“They said … they said you were leaving me,” Wade says quietly.

“Who are they?”

“I told you, it’s them,” Wade gestures to his forehead with the gun again. Panic flares up inside Peter, but he forces it back down. “The voices. You know they get kind of … dickish.”

_That’s putting it mildly._

“Are you going to trust them over me?”

“I …”

“Listen, Wade, we had a fight. It’s what couples do. I’m a young adult, I do stupid shit all the time. I slam doors, I scream, I throw tantrums. But I plan on coming back.” Peter drops to his knees and slowly takes the gun from Wade’s fingers. He sets it aside, but in Wade’s view. The ex-mercenary always feels better when he knows where his ammo is. “You just have to trust me, when I say that I’ll be back. I’m hot-headed, I didn’t want to lose my temper with you. You have to trust my word over theirs, okay?”

Wade frowns. “It’s … hard.”

“I’m not saying it’s going to be easy, but at least … learn to doubt your voices them. Because they _aren’t_ always right, and I know that you get carried away with assumptions and lost inside your own head a lot. I need to pull you back into reality, and I’ll do it as many times as I need.”

“Just …” Wade shakes his head. “Can you not … don’t leave again, okay? Not before … not before we figure it out, okay? Or, if you need to leave, can you tell me how long you’ll be gone? I don’t want … I get anxious when we leave on bad terms.”

“I think I can manage that,” says Peter with a small smile. “Does this mean we’re good for now?”

“Yeah. For now.”

Peter quirks an eyebrow. “Are you threatening me, Wilson?”

“Depends on how you make it up to me.”

Peter smirks, climbing into the bed, trapping the larger man between his forearms. “I can be _very_ persuasive.”

“Yo, author, best end the fic here. Things are getting a little R rated.”

Peter never understands what he’s talking about when he says things like that, but he kisses him and then he’s not saying anything for a while. A long while.


End file.
